Breach of Crust: A Charmed Pie Shoppe Mystery (8 page)

After tossing a pillow at him, Ella Mae finished reading the history of the Camellia Club.

It was clear that the passage of time had diminished the club’s identity as a center for political activism and intrigue. By the middle of the twentieth century, the Camellias were mainly focused on raising money for scholarships and supporting the arts in and around Sweet Briar.

Having finished with the history, Ella Mae turned back to the photograph of Margaret Woodward.

It was your hope that all women would receive a quality education. You also strove for equality for women.
All
women. Not just the upper classes. And yet your club has always been populated by the crème de la crème of society. In your time, that may have been necessary. You needed the cover of propriety to advance your causes, but these days, there’s no need to hide, so why is the club still so exclusive? There’s no diversity whatsoever. Other than the surrogates, of course.

Ella Mae shuffled through the rest of the papers Julia Eudailey had sent. There was no information about membership guidelines other than a single line stating that membership to the Camellia Club was “granted by invitation only.”

Releasing a sigh of irritation, Ella Mae picked up the directory again. Hugh was busy with the laptop and didn’t glance away from the screen as she once again studied the photograph of Bea and the magnificent house in the background.

“An unusual name. Atalanta House,” Ella Mae said softly, wondering if the title was some sort of play on Georgia’s capital city. But then why not just call it Atlanta House? Why the odd spelling?

Ella Mae’s gaze moved beyond the live oaks flanking the entrance gates, swept over the neat lawn with its ancient magnolia tree, and fell on the ionic portico, which extended across two-thirds of the façade. She followed the rise of the house upward to the frieze. In the center, a sculptor had carved a flower. “A camellia, I suppose,” she whispered, but immediately changed her mind. The flower was the wrong shape and didn’t have enough petals. Unfortunately, Bea’s head partially blocked the flower’s rosette, so Ella Mae couldn’t be certain what she was seeing. She needed another view of the front of the house.

“Hugh? How’s it going?”

Hugh glanced away from the computer. “Pretty good. I found images of both Cora and Meg and bookmarked them. Would you like to see?” He put a hand on the remaining throw pillows. “Or do we need to maintain our distance?”

Ella Mae laughed. “I can keep my hands off you for now. If you move the pillows, I promise to behave.”

Adopting an expression of deep disappointment, Hugh swept the pillows onto the floor. He then opened a new screen and clicked on the page he’d bookmarked earlier. “This is one of the many charity events hosted by the Camellia Club last year. It’s called A Shoe Up. It’s a clothing drive for women who’ve faced homelessness, abuse, or other challenging situations. After receiving job training, they need the right clothes to wear to their new jobs. Cora and Meg were in charge of this event. Here they are in
The Sweet Briar Daily News
. It’s the online version of the paper, which is great because the photos are in color.”

Ella Mae studied the photograph of Cora and Meg. Both women were very attractive, but there was something especially captivating about Meg. Ella Mae’s eye went straight to Meg’s face. In the photo, Meg handed a young woman a garment bag while Cora looked on wearing an indulgent smile. Meg was completely focused on the young woman. She wasn’t smiling, but her expression was sincere. Ella Mae liked that about her.

“Two dark-haired beauties,” she said to Hugh. “Any luck finding Lyn Croly?”

“Not yet.”

Ella Mae pointed at the laptop. “Mind if I borrow that for a second? I want to see if I can locate other images of the fanciest clubhouse in the South.”

Hugh stood up and stretched. “Go for it. I’m going to call
the dogs and get them—and us—something to drink. Any requests?”

“Surprise me,” Ella Mae said, her fingers already reaching for the keyboard.

She was so absorbed in her task that she barely noticed the noise of dog nails scrabbling across the floor or of their thirsty lapping as they drank from their water bowls. The sound of a popping cork almost made her glance away from the computer, but just then, an image toward the bottom right of the screen grabbed her attention.

“Is it time for a break?” Hugh asked from what seemed like a great distance.

When Ella Mae looked up from the computer, her eyes were glassy. “It’s an apple blossom. The flower on the frieze is an apple blossom. Margaret Woodward was fascinated by all things Greek. Apples were often magical in Greek myths. This can’t be a coincidence, Hugh. This is the
same
flower Henry saw in his vision.
This
is the flower Loralyn was seeking.”

Hugh carefully put the two glasses he’d been carrying down on the coffee table and touched Ella Mae’s hand.

His cold fingers brought her back to the moment. Her eyes came into focus and she grabbed his hand and squeezed. “There
is
a connection, Hugh. It’s still not clear, but we’re on to something. This is a clue. It must be. I have to find out how this flower fits in.”

“How will you do that?”

Ella Mae passed her hands over her face. “By figuring out which Greek myth it appears in, for starters. If Margaret Woodward possessed an object of power, Loralyn might have plans to steal it from Margaret’s descendants.”

Hugh put his hands on Ella Mae’s shoulders. “Slow down, okay? We’ll read every myth if we have to. But not now. It’s
getting late, and I’m half-asleep. That race wore me out.” He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. It was a featherlight touch, filled with tenderness. “And you’ve been burning the candle at both ends for weeks. You need to rest. Come to bed.”

Ella Mae couldn’t resist the lure of his touch. She shut down the laptop and pointed at the champagne flutes on the table. “What about those?”

“A grapefruit-elderflower champagne cocktail called the Sweet Dreams Sparkler. I found the recipe online and smuggled the ingredients into the fridge when you weren’t looking.”

Picking up her glass, Ella Mae took a sip. The drink was at once soothing and incredibly refreshing. “I don’t think I’m ready to sleep just yet.” She slid a hand under his T-shirt. “I guess there’s just too much spark in this cocktail.”

Hugh raised his brows. “You don’t say? In that case, I’d better get you upstairs before it wears off.”

And with that, he emptied his glass in three swallows and gestured for her to follow suit. As soon as she was done, he slung her over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and took her up to the bedroom. There was no more talk of camellias or golden apples that night.

*   *   *

The next evening, Ella Mae gathered the Book Nerds in the library and showed them the carving on the frieze on Atalanta House.

“That’s the apple blossom I saw,” Henry declared softly.

“And the name of the house is reminiscent of a famous female from Greek myth,” Madge said, hurriedly reaching for a book. “A headstrong virgin named Atalanta who was tricked into taking a husband.”

Adelaide, who’d decided to join the ensemble, cocked
her head to one side. “I’m not familiar with the story. Would you tell it from the beginning?”

Madge settled deeper into her chair. “When Atalanta was born, her father carried her into the woods and left her there to die. She was a girl. Therefore, he didn’t view her as a worthy heir to his title or lands.”

Suzy growled, causing Chewy to bolt upright in alarm. “Too bad he wasn’t mauled by a bear on his way back to his palace.”

“
He
wasn’t found by a bear,” Madge said. “But Atalanta was. The bear raised her, and she spent her childhood in the forest, learning the ways of all the animals. When she grew older, she became a skilled huntress and was chosen to be one of Jason’s Argonauts. She was the only female among his crew.”

Lydia looked at Suzy. “I bet her dad would have been impressed if he knew that his daughter helped Jason find the Golden Fleece.”

With a nod, Madge continued. “Atalanta’s prowess as a hunter increased. Her arrow was the first to strike its mark at the famed Calydonian Boar Hunt. Her next triumph occurred when she defeated Peleus, a friend of Hercules, in a wrestling match. It was at this point that her father decided she was worthy of being named his heir and invited her to live with him. She accepted, and he immediately set about finding her a suitable husband.”

“It really
is
a shame that he wasn’t mauled by a bear,” Suzy said.

Henry grunted in agreement. “The father is not a very likable character.”

“Atalanta didn’t want a husband,” Madge went on as though her friends hadn’t spoken. “She treasured her independence and the freedom she was accustomed to. However,
she thought she could avoid marriage by challenging her suitors to a footrace.”

“I remember her now!” Ella Mae exclaimed. “She was really fast. None of the men could beat her. They had to trick her in order to win, right?”

Madge held out her hands, palms up, as though they were scales, and then raised and lowered them. “Tricked or outsmarted, it’s a matter of perspective. Besides, if her competitor lost, Atalanta was allowed to cut his head off with a sword.”

Ella Mae touched her neck. “Ouch.”

“She was the sole heir of a wealthy and powerful man. She was also quite beautiful, so she had no shortage of suitors. Unfortunately, these men were all defeated and killed,” Madge said grimly. “Until a young man named Hippomenes came along. He prayed to Aphrodite for aid and was granted three golden apples. These apples were enchanted, and when Hippomenes dropped them, one by one, during his race against Atalanta, she felt compelled to pick them up. The delays allowed Hippomenes to win and Atalanta was forced to marry him.”

Suzy smirked. “What a way to begin a marriage. I bet that couple had serious trust issues.”

Madge chuckled. “Unlike fairy tales, Greek myths aren’t prone to happily ever afters. There are several variations as to what became of Atalanta following her marriage. Some versions say she bore a son who went on to become a great hero. Some say that Aphrodite turned the newlyweds into lions because Hippomenes forgot to thank the goddess for the gift of the apples. But there is a lesser-known ending, such as the one written in this book.”

The room grew very still.

With extreme care, Madge opened the dusty tome and turned to a brittle yellow page. “Atalanta outlived her husband
by many years. She had the three apples Hippomenes used to win her hand woven into a belt, which she wore at all times, even when she slept. She ruled her father’s land with a firm hand, but treated men and women equally. Her people called her the lioness.” Madge looked up from the book. “That’s it.”

“There’s no definitive ending to her story?” Ella Mae asked.

“No,” Madge said. “An important detail is that the apples were never returned to Aphrodite. In every version, they remained with Atalanta. Whatever magic they contained was hers to control. My guess is that these apples originally came from a Grecian grove. A very old, very powerful grove.”

“So we have Atalanta House, the apple blossom, and a connection to Loralyn and the Camellia Club,” Suzy said. “But what do we do with this information?”

Glancing around at the others in turn, Ella Mae answered, “I know what I need to do. I need to take a road trip. On Monday, Reba and I are going to Sweet Briar.”

“What excuse will we give the club ladies for showin’ up unannounced?” Reba wanted to know when Ella Mae told her that she planned to drive to Sweet Briar the following day.

“Weddings,” Ella Mae said. “I’ll explain that our catering division is rather new and that we’d love to see how the kitchen and banquet areas are set up at Atalanta House because we’re being asked to cater more weddings at private homes.”

Reba considered this. “Sounds reasonable except for one thing. Why would you drive all the way to Sweet Briar? There are plenty of places to see in Atlanta, which is much closer. These Camellias aren’t dumb. They’ll see through your ploy to get into their inner sanctum in a heartbeat, Ella Mae.”

“Not if there’s a second reason for our being in the neighborhood. You could have a sick relative in Statesboro, for example.”

Reba frowned. “Then we’d better find a real person to
visit. I’d bet a week’s worth of tips that someone at the Camellia Club will check our story. If they possess an object of power, they’ll be suspicious of strangers.”

“We’ll cover our bases. In fact, Verena found us a patient through a charity she helped establish. It’s called Crafting Wishes Foundation. It’s an online wish list that matches the needs of patients in hospitals and nursing homes with people willing to donate handmade items. For example, if a patient asks for a quilt, someone with sewing skills can sign up to make a quilt for that person. No names are exchanged because of privacy laws, and each facility takes care of distributing the items, but someone from Crafting Wishes contacts the donor later on with an update on how their donation was received.”

“A total win-win,” Reba said.

“Yes,” Ella Mae agreed. “Anyway, Verena signed us up to fulfill the wish of an elderly woman with Alzheimer’s. The poor thing has no family, and she hasn’t been eating well lately. She keeps asking for her mama’s chocolate or blueberry icebox pie. I’m going to make her half a dozen of each. I figure the nurses can freeze the extras. I can add a little clear gelatin to the whipped cream to stabilize the cream layer so the pies should freeze nicely.”

“Good thing we have a refrigerator unit in the truck.” Reba watched as Ella Mae stirred a mixture of melted chocolate and sweetened condensed milk in a saucepan for a few moments. “Now I know why you’re here on a Sunday, but I’m still worried about gettin’ inside the Richest Housewives of Sweet Briar’s Clubhouse. When will you call their secretary?”

Ella Mae turned off the heat and moved the pan to an unlit burner to cool. “Right after I get these pies in the freezer. You can help me by pressing the chocolate cookie wafer mixture into the pie pans.”

Reba glanced from a huge bowl filled with a chocolate cookie crumb mixture to a second bowl loaded with chocolate morsels before pointing at a large bar of semisweet chocolate that Ella Mae would shave into curls and use to garnish each pie. “This lady must
really
love chocolate.”

“The memory of its scent might increase her enjoyment. After speaking with Aunt Verena, I went online and read up on the symptoms of Alzheimer’s. Often, people in advanced stages experience dramatic changes to their sense of taste. Sometimes, they can only taste extremely salty or sweet foods. Other times, the food they once liked is no longer appealing. I’m hoping that a strong scent of chocolate will help this lady
remember
the taste of her mama’s pie.”

As Reba began to press the cookie crumbs into the bottom and sides of a pie tin, she looked troubled. “I wish we could do more for this woman. Nobody should end their days in such a state. It must be scary. If there’s comfort in the familiar, in the people and places we know, then what happens when those things vanish like mist? What anchors a person to the world?” She shook her head. “If I thought there was a chance I’d lose my memories of our years together, it would break my heart. Promise to feed me a poisoned pie before you let that happen.”

“Stop talking like that,” Ella Mae said and moved around the worktable to wrap Reba in a tight hug. “You’ll still be filleting people with that knife-sharp tongue of yours when you’re a hundred.”

After returning Ella Mae’s embrace, Reba smirked. “I’m not sure I want to live that long if Loralyn gets her grubby hands on an object of power that will make her immortal.”

“Let’s worry about finding her first,” Ella Mae said. “If a golden apple is somehow tied to the Camellia Club, Loralyn will show up there eventually. If she hasn’t already.”

“That’s what I’ve been wonderin’ since the break-in at her nail salon,” Reba said. “What if Loralyn snooped around the clubhouse and the flower ladies caught her? What if some of the Camellias are magical? You found their last president floating in a lake, remember?”

Ella Mae froze. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten about Bea. I’m hoping to learn more about her when we’re in Sweet Briar, but finding Loralyn is my priority. If she’s being held against her will, we need to free her and bring her home,” Ella Mae declared, retrieving the blueberries from the walk-in for the next round of pies.

Reba mumbled something under her breath. Ella Mae caught the phrases “duct tape” and “trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey” before she switched on the radio.

When all the pies were filled and Ella Mae had covered them with tents of plastic wrap, she called Julia Eudailey and expressed her desire to stop by Atalanta House.

“I was utterly captivated by the history booklet you sent,” Ella Mae said, hoping she wasn’t laying it on too thick. “And since Reba and I will be in the area, I’d love nothing more than to see the house in person.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” Julia sounded guarded.

Ella Mae, fearing that the Camellias didn’t make a habit of rolling out the red carpet for uninvited guests, immediately apologized. “I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sure you’re all very busy and it was rude of me to suggest it on such short notice. I look forward to seeing you in August.”

Ella Mae knew she was taking a risk. It was highly possible that Julia would simply wish her a good day and that would be the end of her chance to get inside Atalanta House. But luck was with her, for Julia said, “We’d love for you to visit. When do you expect to be passing through?”

Suppressing a sigh of relief, Ella Mae gave her an
estimate and Julia promised to meet her at the house. “It’s usually closed for cleaning on Mondays,” she explained. “That’s why I hesitated at first, but I can get a key.”

“I’d like to make you a pie for going through so much trouble on my account,” Ella Mae said. “What’s your favorite kind?”

“Forget about me!” Julia laughed. “I’m counting every calorie until our retreat, but you could bake something for my husband. I’ve been so preoccupied with club events that he’s feeling a little neglected. I’ve no doubt that a pie made by someone as talented as you would go a long way toward cheering him up. The only hiccup is that he was recently diagnosed as lactose intolerant. Up until a year ago, his favorite pie was key lime. Is it even possible to make a good key lime without milk or cream?”

“If it’s possible, I’ll find a way,” Ella Mae vowed. After ending the call, she considered which substitutions to use in place of the sweetened condensed milk traditionally found in a key lime pie.

“I could use a blend of organic cane sugar, flour, vanilla extract, and either baking soda or cornstarch as a thickener. But figuring out how much will equal a fourteen-ounce can of sweetened condensed milk will be a challenge,” she murmured to herself while jotting notes on a grocery list. “I could make a meringue topping. There’s no milk or cream in meringue. Just eggs, cream of tartar, and sugar. And I’ll change up the crust too. Instead of the typical graham cracker, a vanilla wafer crust would complement the meringue nicely.”

Ella Mae spent the rest of the afternoon perfecting her lactose-free key lime pie recipe. It wasn’t as easy as she’d initially thought. During her first attempt, she used too much water and the finished pie had a soupy consistency. After that, she was too heavy-handed with the sugar. Luckily, the
third try was the charm, and when Reba popped back in to see how Ella Mae’s conversation with Julia had gone, Ella Mae cut her a slice.

“I’ve had key lime a thousand times,” Reba said. “I don’t need to try it again.”

Ella Mae pushed the plate closer to her friend. “Do me a favor and take a bite.”

“Fine, twist my arm.” Reba popped a loaded forkful in her mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “Same as always. Delicious.”

Smiling, Ella Mae reached for the package of vanilla wafers. “Great. Now I can make one for Julia’s husband.”

Reba gestured at the package. “Why’d you buy those? Are you out of graham crackers?”

“No. I’m making this pie for a gentleman who can’t tolerate lactose, so I changed my whole recipe. It was a good exercise too. I’d like to include a dairy-free pie on our menu every day. I’d also like to offer gluten-free and nut-free options. Lots of people have food allergies, and if they can’t eat traditional piecrust, there’s very little they can order at The Charmed Pie Shoppe other than salad.”

“Which is only exciting if you’re a rabbit.” Reba glanced at her watch. “I’ll be at your place bright and early tomorrow morning. As for tonight, I have a date with the dashin’ Fernando. Of all the men at the carnival, I knew he was for me the second I saw the name penciled on the menu board of his food truck.” She smiled at the memory. “The Naked Chorizo.”

Ella Mae grinned. “Fernando? Reminds me of that ABBA song.”

“Me too. I even sang a few bars to my hunky Spanish chef while he was fixin’ me a special dessert, but he didn’t recognize the song. He’s too young. Even younger than you.” Reba’s eyes gleamed with impish delight.

Making a shooing gesture with her potholders, Ella Mae said, “I don’t want to hear his age. Have a good time, but don’t stay up too late. We should leave around six.”

“Not to worry,” Reba said. “Fernando can drop me off on his way out of town. That’s the beauty of datin’ a man with a food truck. His whole summer is booked up with carnivals and state fairs. He can swing through Havenwood every few weeks and light my fire, but other than that, ours will be a relationship without commitment. It’s perfect.”

After giving Ella Mae a saucy wink, she left the pie shop, singing “Fernando” and playing air drums with two licorice twists.

*   *   *

The next day, Ella Mae took one glance at Reba and knew that her friend wouldn’t be doing much driving. “You look like hell,” she said.

“I think I’m finally startin’ to feel my age.” Reba dug her fingers into her temples and moaned. “I can’t handle tequila shots like I could when I was younger.”

Ella Mae waved at her pink truck. “You should take a nap. I need you to be sharp when we get to Sweet Briar.”

Reba slept for most of the trip, her face pressed against the passenger window. She only roused when Ella Mae drove over a speed bump in the hospital parking lot.

“Where are we?” she asked through a lengthy yawn.

“We’re about to deliver the icebox pies,” Ella Mae replied brusquely. After consuming two large cups of coffee, she desperately needed to use the restroom and there wasn’t a parking space in sight.

Slipping on a pair of oversized sunglasses, Reba pointed at a loading dock. “Pull up there. I’ll tell the security guard that we need to transfer food straight to a refrigerator. I bet
you need to stretch and use the ladies’ room after all that drivin’.”

Ella Mae didn’t argue. While Reba sorted things out with the guard, Ella Mae dashed inside the hospital and took care of business. She then located a nurses’ station.

“I’m with the Crafting Wishes Foundation,” she told a woman in green scrubs. “We have pies for one of your patients.”

The nurse asked Ella Mae to wait while she made a quick call. A few minutes later, another nurse appeared at the desk. “Thank you so much for your donation. I know my patient will appreciate your gift.”

“I brought a few extras. They can be kept frozen for up to a week,” Ella Mae said. “Is there anything else I can do? This doesn’t seem like much.”

“But it is, honey,” the nurse assured her kindly. “It really is. My patient has been hankering for this pie for ages. One of my colleagues tried to make it for her, but it just wasn’t right.”

Ella Mae looked at her doubtfully. “My recipe might not be right either.”

“Only because what she wants is based on a memory, and memories are always better than what’s in front of us,” the nurse said. “Memories are golden. Shining. Without flaw. But it’s what you put in the pie that matters, hon. The love you put into it. That’s what she’ll taste.
That’s
what she’s looking for. The memory of her mama’s love. Don’t you worry—a stranger’s love can make her feel just as good. That’s the kind of magic I believe in anyway.” She smiled. “If you give me your number, I’ll let you know how she reacted to your pie. We have your info in our system, but our computers are running molasses-in-January slow today.”

Ella Mae scribbled her number on a piece of paper and handed it to the nurse.

“I have a feeling about you,” the woman said as she turned
to go. “I think you’re going to make a wish come true today. Bless you, sweetheart.”

By the time Ella Mae returned to the loading dock, the icebox pies had been transferred and Reba was behind the wheel, waiting to drive.

“I stopped by the cafeteria. There’s a bacon, egg, and cheese biscuit for you on the dash,” she said after Ella Mae had hopped into the passenger seat. “Sorry about bein’ such a lousy road trip partner, but I’m my perky self again now. I can drive for the rest of the day.”

“Was Fernando worth it?” Ella Mae asked, giving Reba a little smile to show that there were no hard feelings.

Reba adjusted the rearview mirror and paused for a moment to examine her reflection. “Oh, he
was
. Did you program the nav system?”

“Yes.” Ella Mae reached for her biscuit. “It shouldn’t take us long to get to Sweet Briar. I want to get a feel for the place before I call Julia. We need to find a good hub for gossip.”

“How about a good truck stop or a donut shop? Or a Waffle House?” Reba suggested.